


The Capacity for Change

by KitschyKit



Series: New Representatives [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Crisis of Faith, Godparents Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), M/M, Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), Panic Attacks, Passive-aggression, Post-Canon, Retirement, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Suggestive Themes, The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-23 21:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19710175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitschyKit/pseuds/KitschyKit
Summary: It has been 10 years since they saved the world, and Crowley worked himself into a mess, convinced that something was going to happen. Nothing does. The day after that however, brings Gabriel. And he has some questions.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a study about how weird their bodies are, and it evolved into something else entirely. I had way too much fun with the footnote function.

Crowley loved the stars. He liked their steady presence in his life, and the way that light still managed to cut through the darkness. And he also knew that if he tried his best to fly to them, some stars would already be dead by the time he arrived. He also knew that some that he had made had already gone out, a supernova on the other end of the universe. 

He’d seen kingdoms rise and fall, but nothing made him feel worse about the passage of time than having a light on his mental map of the night sky go out. 

He hoped the stars below him never went out.

He and Aziraphale had suppressed the more occult/ethereal parts of themselves in order to blend in on Earth, but their true bodies rejected the rigid nature of their forms. 

For demons, it was like trying to wrap a bundle of broken glass in layers upon layers of tissue paper. It held together well enough, but there were bound to be holes. 

Crowley’s holes were ones to do with his snake form. His eyes, his tongue; the scales that ran down his spine, loose joints and an odd number of vertebrae. The snakeskin boots were mostly out of a sense of irony than anything else. 

For angelic forms, the effect seemed to be what would happen if you were to fill up a white canvas bag with ink. It wasn’t that it leaked out, it was more that it...stained the surface of its vessel. 

Organic stretches of glittering gold stained the surface every angel: on Uriel’s face, Sandalphon’s calf, Michael’s right hip. The weight of gold on Gabriel's shoulders. 

Crowley hoped sometimes, in the dead of night, that his gold had been somewhere else, _anywhere_ else than his spine, where scales now resided. That it had been vanished, rather than replaced. 

Aziraphale, however human he tried to be, was also one that had the symptoms of being ethereal. 

Crowley _loved_ them though. When there were clouds over London, (as there often were), he could instead look at his angel, and see a permanent night sky. 

The freckles littering his back were a bright, sparking gold. He had clumps of freckles on his shoulders, like constellations. Instead of thick flaking pieces, Aziraphale had scattered gold stars across his body, small dots of glitter dusting his lower back, small enough to blend in, but unmistakably holy. 

Crowley tried to count them, whenever he got anxious, and when Aziraphale would let him. He lost track every time, but he didn’t care all that much. 

But he did get anxious, _paranoid_ even at times, and Aziraphale took him and laid him down and talked him through it, and very occasionally made sure that Crowley didn’t think about _anything at all_ for a couple hours. 

The specific anxiety about their place between heaven and hell was a larger, more deep seated fear. It was like a wave, the fear slowly ebbing and fading after the first few years of being left alone, but the significance of the date became more apparent after they crossed the 9 year boundary, and the wave built and rose and grew as the milestone of the decade came to a head. 

They had been semi-retired/semi-fired for 9 years, 11 months, 3 weeks, 6 days and 14 hours when the wave finally crested and crashed into him, the night before the anniversary of The First Day Of The Rest Of Their Lives. 

Crowley was sideways in Aziraphale’s lap, and they were a little tipsy, and Crowley was anxiously and methodically pulling apart tissues like a destructive house pet. 

Aziraphale was softly reading aloud from a book of poetry, his free hand running soothing lines down Crowley’s back until the demons claws disappeared. He was still shaking. 

“I’m sorry,” the apology startled Aziraphale out of reading, and Crowley wouldn’t meet his eyes. He was embarrassed, as always, about his fits of panic. “If this is our final night then I’ve made it a bad one.” 

“I don’t think it’s our last,” the angel said. “But if it is, there’s no place I’d rather be.” 

Crowley picked at Aziraphale’s button up, tugging the fabric gently. “Take your shirt off?” 

The angel did, and Crowley pressed his face into his neck, looking down to seek out small freckled constellations. 

He lost count three times before his heart stopped beating so loudly in his ears. 

“Angel?” 

“My dear?” 

Crowley breathed in and forced his body to relax on the exhale, going boneless in Aziraphale’s arms. “Make love to me.” 

They did, in the cottage they called home, and they held each other very tightly, and neither of them slept a wink. [1]

The day came. 

They went out for a picnic. Adam called them from his flat where the Them lived. Anathema sent them a cheeky 10th anniversary card. They shared a bottle of wine on the roof of their cottage, watching the sunset. 

Aziraphale and Crowley went about their normal day in careful and cautious celebration, and kissed gently when it came to a close. _We’re okay,_ the kiss said. _We made it._

The next day, they did the crossword together over breakfast, and Aziraphale offered to pick up groceries as an excuse to stretch his legs. 

Ten minutes after the angel left, when Crowley was in his garden, lightning was supposed to strike down. [2]

But at precisely 10:04am, lightning didn’t strike. 

Gabriel arrived unannounced instead. 

He walked through the gate, and around the cottage, following the stone path to the garden. 

There was music coming from a radio. [3] Crowley was singing along, barefoot, and in grass-stained jeans and a tank top loose enough to make everyone in a 50-meter radius blush. He was holding a garden hose. He didn’t have his sunglasses on. His shoulders were loose and free of anxiety. He was content. 

Gabriel switched off the radio. 

The demon froze. 

“Be not afraid,” Gabriel said, and winced as Crowley flinched at the heavenly tone. “Uh.” 

“Have you come to revoke our retirement?” Crowley asked, and he did nothing to hide the derision in his voice. Or the sadness. 

“I just came to talk.” 

Crowley’s voice was deceptively calm. “Where’s Aziraphale?” 

“I haven’t talked to him.” [4]

Crowley said nothing. The hand clenched around the hose was white-knuckled tight. He kept his back to the Archangel, waiting, calculating, weight on his toes. 

Coiled like a spring. Or a snake. 

“I do not wish to harm you.” Gabriel did not move from his spot. Crowley hissed, but didn’t sense a lie in it, and didn’t sense anyone else around them. 

He turned, glancing over his shoulder, and looked Gabriel up and down. 

“Come on then,” Crowley said, and Gabriel noted with interest that the demon did not look or sound angry, or scared. Merely resigned.

Before he could look too closely, the demon snapped his fingers, and sunglasses fell over his eyes. “If you aren’t gonna smite me, I’m going to water my plants.” 

He heaved the end of the hose over his shoulder, and walked away, and Gabriel gaped, caught in the fact that the demon _actively turned his back on the archangel,_ in a move that was either completely trusting or completely idiotic. [5]

He followed. 

The demon sauntered when he walked, and maintained a healthy distance between them as he hosed down the flora and fauna. 

Gabriel cleared his throat. “Is this your garden?” 

The snark was clear in the curl of his lip, but the demon seemed to reel himself in. “It reminds me of Eden,” he said honestly. “It’s even got the g- er, the forsaken tree.” 

“ _The_ Tree?” Gabriel asked, with a capital letter to suggest the importance of a very specific Tree. 

“No,” Crowley said, “Just a regular tree, but to tell you the truth, they all look the same anyway.” 

Gabriel didn’t know what to say to that, but he wasn’t at the point yet where he could say what he had come there to say. So he said nothing. 

“I’m not really much of a tempter nowadays,” Crowley said wryly, “In case you were worried.” 

Gabriel watched him hose down a patch of bee balm. “But you’re a demon.” 

“That was a job description,” Crowley replied. And stopped. He looked to his right, and Gabriel looked with him to see the aforementioned apple tree. 

He reached out with his aura, trying to find something, _anything,_ but ultimately finding nothing. It really was just a tree. Gabriel tried to find some meaning in it, but all the conclusions he came to made his head hurt. 

Crowley tilted his head, sunglasses obscuring what he was thinking. “What are you really doing here?” 

“I told you, just to talk.” 

“About?”

“The Earth.” 

Crowley took that in for a moment, and then sighed and dropped the hose to the ground. “Tea?” 

Again, he didn’t wait for an answer, but just lead the way out of the garden, and he opened the sliding door to the cottage. 

Gabriel had been expecting many things from this visit, but hospitality was not on the list. He stepped into the cottage carefully, half expecting a trap of some kind. There were none. 

“You don’t need to consume tea,” he felt compelled to point out, overwhelmed and grasping for something in this scenario that made sense. “Nor do I.” 

“It’s a human custom, it’s polite.” The demon responded, and for the third time today, turned his back on an archangel to mess around in the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

Gabriel took one of the barstools at the kitchen island, and waited patiently. [6]

Crowley sat across from him with their mugs, and he laid out biscuits, and very carefully held his tea, occupying his hands. One of his legs was bouncing a mile a minute. 

“Tea is one thing,” Gabriel said, giving him a look. “But are you tempting me with sweets?” 

“Old habits,” Crowley shrugged, and it could have been an excuse in another life. [7]

“It’s in your nature,” Gabriel tried to accuse, but it ended up more like a question than he intended. 

“Does it matter? I don’t answer to Downstairs anymore. A tax collector doesn’t keep doing his job into retirement just because it was in his nature to be greedy.”

“Well we aren’t supposed to retire,” Gabriel said pointedly. 

“So we were supposed to die. That’s not exactly an incentive to keep working either.” Crowley was certain that he had missed a turn somewhere in the conversation, but just because he didn’t understand didn’t mean he wasn’t going to argue that little jab. 

“I’m just asking if you _changed_ ,” Gabriel said, and there was a hint of pointed desperation to it. “If you changed your nature or if it was always flawed, if being a demon was always only a job to you.” 

Crowley stared at him. “It was just a job,” he said slowly. “It still is for those still in the game. But, we’ve also wondered if it was always Her intention to put a flawed demon and a flawed angel together on Earth, knowing we would do what we did.” 

“Ineffability,” Gabriel muttered, and it was definitely a little bitter. He absently took a biscuit. It was delicious. 

“Sure,” Crowley said with all the gusto of someone who really hated that word. “Yeah it was a job, a necessary evil to keep the balance and all that, but I can’t say I didn’t come away from it unscathed.” 

Gabriel frowned. “What do you mean? You just said it always in your nature to be different.” 

“Well think about it. Humans have a small lifetime, but they keep changing, and it’s more noticeable that way. Our lifetimes are bigger, stretching forever, but still, the growth is there, even if it’s harder to spot.”

“We don’t change like that,” Gabriel protested weakly, and he picked up another biscuit. 

“I’m not the same demon I was 6,000 years ago,” Crowley said, now determined to prove his point. “Are you the same angel?” 

“Of course I am,” the archangel said with all the defensive certainty of a road trip navigator holding the map upside down. 

“Uh huh,” Crowley hummed, and changed tactics. “If you’re so certain of your immutability, why the sudden concern about your job?” 

“Ngk,” said Gabriel.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh shit. They’re reassigning you.” 

“It was a group decision,” he countered, consuming another Jaffa cake in neat little bites.

“Where they sending you?” Crowley asked, insanely curious about the shuffle of Heaven’s ranks. 

Gabriel, unable to properly vocalize his own reality, just stared. 

“Shit,” Crowley said, and pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, shock clear on his face. “No way.” 

“They wanted the best down here,” Gabriel said, as if reading from a script. He miserably munched on another cake, and reflected on how strange his existence had become. 

“You’re going to be Heaven’s new agent on Earth,” Crowley marveled. “So why come to me?” 

“I’m certain that Aziraphale would like nothing to do with me, after the last time we saw each other,” Gabriel said, referencing the Nativity Scene. [8]

“Right,” Crowley hummed, remembering that interaction in startling, furious detail. He calmly took a sip of tea. 

Gabriel, also remembering the interaction with uncomfortable amounts of fear, copied him and followed it up with: “Which is why we agreed to talk to you two separately, they decided that they it would be best if they kept their end of the deal to leave you alone.” 

“They?” Crowley choked out, and he knew within a second, a hole opening in the pit of his stomach, and it felt not unlike the real Pit Of Despair. 

“Beelzebub,” Gabriel nodded. “We’re your...replacements.” 

Crowley swallowed the lump in his throat, heart thundering in his chest, resisting the urge to race out of the house and _find him save him._ “Do your offices know you're here to talk?” 

A complicated journey crossed the archangels face, and Crowley sensed a lie building on his tongue, but it then fizzled out as Gabriel’s mental thought process took a large sidestep to avoid the question. 

“Fraternizing is frowned upon, for obvious reasons.” Gabriel offered instead, which Crowley interpreted as a no, and he relaxed, clinging to the hope that Aziraphale was also having a calm, simple discussion. [9]

“So tell me,” Crowley said. “Why should I help you?” 

“Demons,” Gabriel said, suddenly feeling foolish at how comfortable he was around Crowley. “It’s always something with you, you always want something in exchange.” 

“No,” said Crowley, blinking slowly. [10] “I just want you to tell me why. Why should I help you when you don’t even care.” 

“Of course I care,” he argued. “It’s my job.” 

“You don’t care about Earth though, not really.” 

“I care about everyone, I’m an angel,” Gabriel was frowning now. “You’re the ones that got too attached.” 

“Maybe,” Crowley admitted. “But give it time. You’ll get attached too.” 

“It isn’t in my nature. You said it yourself, you two were flawed and She put you together. Beelzebub and I are not.” 

At that, Crowley threw back his head and laughed. 

“You, you are _so_ flawed,” Crowley wheezed. “You might not even realize it. But spend some time on Earth and you will figure out every one of your flaws, because you’ll be _challenged.”_

“Challenged?” Gabriel’s voice was flat. 

“Heaven and Hell are boring and exciting respectfully, but they are routine, it’s expected. You’ve never been challenged a day in your life.” [11]

“I would be really careful about what you’re implying, demon,” he said, voice clipped. 

“Okay okay sorry,” Crowley said, still gently wheezing. _Sorry?_ Gabriel’s mind echoed back. _Did he just apologize?_

“Listen it’s…” Crowley trailed off for a moment, thinking. “It’s about self awareness.” 

“Self awareness?” Gabriel noted with a twinge of regret that they were out of Jaffa cakes. 

“It’s… it’s like the Original Sin.” 

Gabriel’s expression soured. “I don’t want to hear this.” 

“Just hold up,” Crowley said quickly. “It’s about free will, and knowledge, and growing up. We aren’t supposed to do any of that, being who we are, but we can _grow._ We have the capacity to change.” 

“No we don’t,” Gabriel said, “we’re always going to be who we are.” 

“Aziraphale and I aren’t,” Crowley pointed out. “It took 6,000 years, but we changed.” 

“A flaw,” Gabriel reminded him, and for the first time it actually felt like an insult. 

“Maybe,” Crowley said, regretting that he’d brought up ineffability at all. “Or maybe Heaven and Hell are afraid of change.” 

“We _can’t change_ ,” Gabriel said sharply. “We have our roles.” 

“Yeah,” agreed Crowley, “but now you have your chance. You aren’t gonna be in heaven anymore. Your role is whatever you want it to be.” 

“That’s not true,” Gabriel said, “My role is to be an Archangel.” 

“Who's going to stop you?”

Gabriel went deathly silent across from him. 

The moment stretched longer, the implication of Falling heavy between them. 

Crowley sighed, breaking it. “Whatever happens, I don’t think being able to change yourself is a flaw. Maybe I’m wrong. But if you really want my advice about doing this job? See everything. There’s a great big world out there, and it’s full of beautiful terrible things. Try to see all of it for what it is.” 

Gabriel’s mouth clicked open and shut. He had many things to say, and none he could articulate. The question that had been haunting him bubbled to the surface. _Will Earth change who he was?_

He still didn’t know. He was afraid that if he asked the question outright, he would get an answer he wasn't ready for. 

He pushed his doubts to the back of his mind and nodded once. “See everything,” he repeated softly. “Okay.” 

He blinked, the intensity of the conversation seeming to drain out of them both, and Gabriel looked around the room, around the cottage, with books and plants and a clean, lived-in feel. He took it in, and turned it over in his mind, and felt it in his bones. 

This cottage was loved beyond measure. Each object thought over carefully, every trinket cherished. 

“You have a lovely home,” he said, and Crowley looked at him strangely. 

“Uh, thank you.” Crowley responded eventually. They stared at each other. 

“I-,” Gabriel stopped and then started again. “I don’t know what’s going to happen next.” 

“You’re going to do your job,” Crowley said slowly, guessing reasonably. “Did you get the answer you were looking for?” 

“No,” Gabriel admitted. “I don’t know if I’m ready for the answer.”

“You’ll know when you are,” The demon said, and it sounded almost kind, and the _sincerity_ was there. Gabriel quietly marveled at the depth of emotion he’d felt from the demon today, trying to fit it in with all the talk of change, and at that moment, footsteps approached the front door. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale called as he opened the door. “You will not believe what just happened.” 

“I think I can,” joked Crowley weakly as Aziraphale stared at the archangel Gabriel at his kitchen table. 

Gabriel looked like he’d been caught in headlights. 

Aziraphale, with groceries on his arm, looked for all the world like a retail associate when faced with a particularly difficult customer: distant, composed, and altogether _too nice._ [12]

“Gabriel,” he said, and smiled. It was in fact, a nice smile. [13] “To what do we owe the pleasure?” 

“I was just leaving actually,” Gabriel said, and Crowley, however much he disliked the archangel, had the distinct urge to step in front of him and somehow protect him. 

“Oh what a pity,” Aziraphale commented as he closed the door with a resolute _click._ “Are you sure you can’t stay for tea?” [14]

“No,” he said, and resisted the urge to lean back. “It appears that I’m actually late for a meeting.” 

Then, acting on an impulse, Gabriel turned and nodded to Crowley. “Until next time.” He said, and before he could give them time to react, he disappeared, and consequently reappeared on a bench two towns over, in a small park. 

_It was just politeness,_ he thought to himself as to why he even gave the demon a proper goodbye. [15]

“You’re late,” the being next to him said tonelessly. 

“Aziraphale caught me,” he explained, and watched as Beelzebub nervously reached for their tie, loosening it. “Shall we compare notes?” 

“Let’zzz,” they said. “Not that I have too many notezz to compare.” 

Gabriel studied the shadows of terror etched into their expression, and was suddenly very very grateful that he had met with Crowley. 

Two towns back, in their cottage, a different angel and demon were also comparing notes, as Crowley put away the groceries. 

“You tempted the archangel Gabriel into gluttony,” Aziraphale’s voice was flat, scandalized, and impressed all at once. 

Crowley made a strangled sound. “You’re overexaggerating. It was just a couple biscuits.” 

“He ate all the Jaffa cakes,” the angel griped. He sat where Gabriel had before, and picked off the rest of the assorted biscuits, a bit put out.

“Well,” Crowley shrugged. “He was nervous.” 

“And you weren’t?” 

“No,” he reflected, and was surprised to find that despite the visit, he wasn’t actually all that anxious. “No I wasn’t.” 

He looked at Aziraphale and smiled. “I think we’re going to actually be left alone. For a little while anyway.” 

“They’d better,” the angel replied lightly, but with the ominous intent of something terrifyingly celestial, and Crowley suddenly realized that he actually didn’t want to compare notes anymore, not at all. 

“I can make chicken salad for lunch,” he said instead, and Aziraphale beamed. 

“Oh could you dear?” 

Crowley balanced himself as he leaned forward and kissed him across the table. It was light, sweet, and seemed to reset their day. “Of course.” 

He turned back to the counter, and heard Aziraphale hum behind him. “And dear?” 

“Yes?” He glanced over his shoulder. Aziraphale’s smile was badly hidden behind his miraculously full teacup. 

“You might as well take off your shirt. It’s not doing anything to cover you up anyway.” 

Crowley hid his blush from view, a starstruck little smile on his lips as he drew the tank top up and over his head with a small shimmy to match. 

He went back to prepping for their lunch and _yeah,_ he thought, with a feeling in his chest that was akin to a puzzle piece falling back into place, _we’re still here. The Earth’s still spinning._

He knew he would still have bad days, they both would— but he had the Earth. His garden, his home. He had the stars above him, the ones formed by his hands but no longer within his reach. And he had the stars that he could kiss, the pieces of Aziraphale’s soul that he could whisper sweet nothings to in the dark. 

He felt warm arms wrapped around his middle, lips pressing into the scales on the back of his neck, and Crowley felt safe. 

It was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Despite putting on a calm face for his partner, Aziraphale was also worried. The only one not worried seemed to be Adam, who supposedly had bigger things to worry about, because he was about to start his last year at uni, and his mother was very cross about last years low marks [return to text]
> 
> 2 This would be odd considering the sky was perfectly clear. The absence of clouds as well was even more unusual, considering this was England [return to text]
> 
> 3 Don’t Stop Me Now, by Queen [return to text]
> 
> 4 This was the truth, however, Gabriel knew at that moment who was actually talking to Aziraphale, but wasn’t going to give up the information readily [return to text]
> 
> 5 Or completely confident in his ability to defend himself. Gabriel was painfully reminded of Micheal’s shaken recount of the demon that could withstand holy water [return to text]
> 
> 6 He was also rather nosily looking at every bit of the cottage that was within his sight [return to text]
> 
> 7 It wasn’t, he legitimately hadn’t thought about it. He just liked the digestives in his tea [return to text]
> 
> 8 This is, in fact the situation in which the respective parties realized that their agents had “Gone Native” and not specifically, the traditional use of the word Nativity. The author will not apologize for this word misuse because they find it terribly funny [return to text]
> 
> 9 As a matter of fact, it was simple, and it was a discussion. However, considering Aziraphale was holding the Lord of Hell by their tie over a suddenly blessed pond, it meant that one party was significantly more calm than the other [return to text]
> 
> 10 Not because he needed too, unless you count wanting to be dramatic as a need [return to text]
> 
> 11 Incorrect. Gabriel was very very challenged for one stressful week ten years ago [return to text]
> 
> 12 This was not the definition of nice that meant accurate [return to text]
> 
> 13 But it was not, in fact, a kind one [return to text]
> 
> 14 It was at this point that Gabriel learned, for all intents and purposes, that the offering of tea could either be taken as an invitation, or as a threat [return to text]
> 
> 15 But it was not the same Politeness that his angelic counterpart had seemed to weaponize [return to text]


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added Snippets: Aziraphale's POV, and then a final snapshot of the future. Gender stuff at the end is vague on purpose.

The sun filtered through the curtains, a pleasant warmth in the air that, upon waking, [1] made Aziraphale fully expect to find Crowley sprawled out and basking. 

But the spot next to him was empty, and he smelled crepes instead, and the angel covered his face to hide his grin from no one in particular, unabashedly pleased. The warmth he felt in the air wasn’t from the temperature-- it was from love, and it was rather infectious. [2]

Aziraphale had tried not to fret or show his nerves around Crowley the past two days, but he had _really_ wanted their lives to return to normal, praying that their fears were unwarranted. And their forcefully normal day yesterday had proved them as such, and Aziraphale let out a breath, because crepes were a very good sign that normalcy had returned. 

He got dressed and slipped downstairs to see Crowley covered in flour, and there were slices of fruit tucked into steaming crepes, and a saucepan of caramel that didn’t dare burn if it knew what was good for it, and Aziraphale was just a tad smitten with it all. [3]

He went to collect the paper, and over a sinfully delicious breakfast [4] he asked for answers to crossword questions he already knew, just to see the pleased little grin the demon wore when he got it right. 

Crowley planned to be in his garden, and Aziraphale didn’t want to interrupt that for the world. 

He knew that, despite the fear and suspicion that haunted him, Crowley was above all else, an optimist. He wrestled with the conflicting attitudes of his anxiety and optimism, but like clockwork, he had faced the morning planned for the worst, but with the conviction that everything would work out if they continued to pretend that it would anyway, and so it had. 

Aziraphale kissed him gently goodbye, and as a thank you for breakfast; and he might have accidentally turned it into something a little _more_ than gentle, but there was just so much love. 

The skimpy flour-covered tank-top didn’t help. He made a mental note to fix that particular problem when he got back. 

It was only a five minute walk to the store, their cottage right outside the village, and he enjoyed the walk, hearing the birds and crickets, and then the chatter and activity of people as he went into the village center. 

He bought a few staples, and a delicate devils food cake in a tiny little box that would increase in quality before it even got to the register, and Sainsbury's was very surprised on that morning to find that it was playing Shawn Mendazes’ Sonata No.17 in C. 

It was 10:04 am. 

Aziraphale wandered by the produce section, and heard a faint buzzing. Doing a double take, he saw that some of the apples had rotted to an absurd degree, small black flies hovering in clouds. He made a show of tutting, and when he moved on the fruit was shiny and healthy again. 

He took his time checking out, content smile fixated in place, looking all the world like the relaxed older gentleman he portrayed. He walked out of the store, and saw a dark shape in the window’s reflection, confirming his suspicions.

“Oh dear,” he muttered to himself as he tucked the paper bag in the crook of his elbow. “That’s not ideal.” 

He walked back down through the village and onto the bike path alongside the main road and contemplated his next move. The road was barren, the bike path quiet. The birds had gone silent. He could see their cottage in the distance. 

The angel glanced off to the side and saw a small pond off the path, grass and reeds pushing up through the water. 

He stopped next to it, and waited. 

There was a frustrated noise, and Beelzebub materialized next to him from the shadows. “Principality Azzziraphale.” 

“Lord Beelzebub,” he acknowledged wryly, “I suppose you think you were being subtle.” 

“Don’t be smart with me,” they snapped. “I came to talk businezzz.” 

“Wrong traitor to do so,” the angel glanced at the demon prince, and put his groceries down off to the side.

“Right one,” they rasped, insistent. “I’m not talking to him. Besidezz, you aren’t like those heavenly bastardzz.” 

“No,” Aziraphale agreed. “I’m _the_ Bastard.” [5]

Praying this would work with the element of surprise, he gripped the Beelzebub’s tie and yanked them to the side, off balance, their heels on the edge of the path. Their body was awkwardly suspended over the pond, only being held up by his hand on their tie. They snarled, reaction time two seconds too slow, and Aziraphale blinked, the pond below now shimmering.

“That’s holy water under you,” he explained evenly, [6] and Beelzebub froze, tension clear in their legs as they held themselves up, gripping their own tie. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.” 

“Should’ve known. Mother. Fucking. _Angelzzz,”_ Beelzebub buzzed furiously.

The lack of demons coming out of the shadows for a rescue meant that Aziraphale had gambled correctly that they were alone, and he tamped down the giddy expression of success for a more baleful one. “Who _is_ talking to Crowley, if not you?” 

“Gabriel.” 

“Are you going to harm him?” 

“No,” they grunted, straining to hold their weight. 

Aziraphale tilted his head. “You’re right that I’m not like them. Heaven would discorporate you because you’re the opposition, and it would be all bureaucratic and civil in the name of the greater good. No hard feelings. _Impersonal_ even.”

“But if I found that what you’re saying is untrue,” Aziraphale continued, smiling serenely. “If you hurt him, what I would do to you would be anything but.” 

There was a pointed glance down at the pond, and Beelzebub hid their fear with a withering look. “We didn’t come here to hurt you.” They spat. “Juzzt to gather intel.” 

“Against us?” 

“No,” they said, frustrated. “We’re your bloody fucking replacementzzz.” 

“Ah,” he said lightly. “I see.” 

Beelzebub nodded, tongue darting out nervously. “Will you put me down now?” 

“No,” Aziraphale said evenly. [7] “But please do go ahead and ask your questions, don’t let me stop you.” 

The Prince of Hell looked at him with an incredulous expression so strong it could’ve stripped paint off a wall. 

The Angel gave them an expression back that was supposed to be encouraging. [8]

“We’re trying to figure out how you went native.” Beelzebub said, and they somehow scrounged up enough confidence to sound bored. “Figure out what you did wrong so we don’t do it.” 

“Oh, in that case,” Aziraphale said cheerfully. “I want you to leave and never come back.” 

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow in the way a superior does when being unexpectedly back-talked. “I beg your pardon?“

“I am under the impression that this is all meant to be under Her plan,” he said. “Why should I give you any hints when you two _can_ and _will_ make a dreadful mess of things all on your own.” 

“Oh, like how _you_ made such a mezz of thingz, izz that it?” They drawled. 

“No no, dear,” Aziraphale tutted. “I imagine you’ll do something completely different but with no more competence than we did.”

“That’zz why we’re trying to make planzz to avoid that, if you would be _at all_ helpful.” 

Aziraphale, who would really rather get back to his retirement now, gave them a patient look that only managed to be a little condescending. “You can make all the plans you want, but on Earth, everything will inevitably go er- tits up as it were.” 

He then ran out of said patience and went for a huffy and blunt: “You might as well get used to it.” 

Beelzebub narrowed their eyes, thinking it through. “So izz it all supposed to be Her plan or not?” 

“Yes, Her plan. No one else’s. It has to consistently surprise us, or else, what’s the point?” [9]

“I’m juzzt trying to do my job,” they said, and it was more a petulant buzz than anything else. 

“Then do it. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

At that, Aziraphale finally and carefully pulled Beelzebub towards the path again, away from the pond, and they stumbled forward, taking a few hasty steps towards the road. 

Aziraphale picked up his perfectly preserved groceries, looking bright and unruffled. “I’m going home,” he said simply. “Good luck with your assignment.” 

“Izz it luck or ineffability?” they asked, and Aziraphale turned and walked away with a tight-lipped smile. 

“Why don’t we say it’s both?” 

There was a pop behind him, but Aziraphale didn’t relax until he was opening the gate to their cottage. He reached out, and felt Crowley’s presence, alive and well. 

And Gabriel’s. 

And well... the Angel never turned down a bit of harmless fun. He smothered his laugh and schooled his features into something a little more disdainful, and he walked up to his front door. 

“Crowley,” he called out, feigning innocence. “You will not believe what just happened.” 

**[An Undisclosed Amount of Time Later]**

Aziraphale and Crowley were in their bed in their cottage, on one of those rare nights when they both slept. It was late spring. It was approximately 2 o’clock in the morning. 

Someone was knocking on their door. 

Crowley, despite desperately wanting to insist to the person on the other side that they _really should be going,_ was also compelled by the urge to actually see what was going on, by mere curiosity alone. [10]

He put on a black silk robe to match his shorts, and wandered blearily downstairs to the front door, which was still being knocked on intermittently. 

He padded up to the door, and if he’d been smarter, he would’ve checked the peephole. As it were, he did not, and he swung open the door to find the Prince of Hell and an Archangel of Heaven on his doorstep. 

They were leaning against one another. As Crowley’s night vision kicked in, he could see that they looked haggard and exhausted. Beelzebub seemed to be sinking into the floor, trembling, and Gabriel had dark circles under his eyes. He was holding something to his chest protectively, and Crowley could smell blood. 

“We mezzzed up,” Beelzebub said weakly. 

Crowley pinched his nose and swore in at least four different languages. He stood back to hold the door open, glaring. “Come in for fuckss sake, you look terrible.” 

The kitchen and living room were brighter, making it easier to see exactly how terrible they looked. Beelzebub continued to lean against the archangel, and they looked ready to pass out, the twisted stubborn clench of their teeth seemingly being the only thing keeping them together. 

Gabriel looked slightly feral, desperate hope clinging to his very clothes. “We messed up,” he said, echoing them, “we have no idea what to do or how to explain it or- just- just _here.”_

“Crowley?” A voice floated down from the bedroom, vaguely alarmed. 

Crowley could only helplessly hold out his arms, as Gabriel gently but firmly placed a bundle of grey cloth to his chest. A bundle that had a face. It squinted up at him, and had purple eyes. 

_“Aziraphale,”_ Crowley called up, voice strangled. “You need to get up. I think we’re— we’re—“ 

In that moment, the bundle in his arms started to fuss, and Crowley focused on them immediately, rocking them carefully, murmuring soothing words, while Gabriel got Beelzebub to finally sit down. 

Aziraphale came down the stairs in his pale tartan pajamas and matching slippers and he froze in shock at the incredibly strange scene in front of him. “What on _earth?”_

Gabriel had the good grace to look sheepish, and Beelzebub put an arm over their eyes from where they were on the couch. 

Crowley was on a knife’s edge between a detached triage-focus on the situation and a full blown panic attack, but when he looked down at the baby again, it... all melted away.

“My dear?” 

The baby with purple eyes gurgled at him, small and wrinkled and full of potential, and Crowley stood in his living room with an infernal/celestial baby and raised his head to look up at Aziraphale with the most awe-stricken look on his face. 

“We’re godparentsss again,” he said simply. [11] A heartbeat went by as a range of emotion passed the angel’s face. 

“Would you imagine that,” Aziraphale replied slowly, annoyed but not enough to put any heat into the words. “The guest bedroom now has a bassinet.” [12]

“You’ll help?” Came a croak from the couch, and it was so faint and broken Crowley honestly couldn’t tell who asked. 

Aziraphale rolled up his sleeves. “ _Of course_ we’ll help,” he admonished, and both Beings on the couch flinched at his tone. 

The angel rolled his eyes. “Enough of that, get up now, we’re going to clean you up the old fashioned way. No miracles, no drawing attention to yourselves, you’re officially off the map. Now then, does the child have a name?” 

“Naamah,” Beelzebub answered, at the same time that Gabriel said, “Mary.” It was obvious that this had been an ongoing argument. 

Crowley swayed with his self-proclaimed goddaughter, his pinky finger clenched tight in her little fist, and he thought about The Big One, the real one. He thought about how Heaven and Hell, were they to find out— would they finally decide to go against Humanity? It was one thing for Humanity to change two lowly field agents but this? The _best_ of them? Would they decide that Earth is more powerful than its worth, if it can change the very nature of angels and demons? [13]

Crowley thought about the End of Times, and the last time he held a baby like this one, and he snorted, hysterical laughter bubbling up from his throat. 

“You know,” he choked out. “There’s always Eve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Crowley had convinced him to sleep that night, as another “reboot to reality” for when they woke up to a new day [return to text]
> 
> 2 In hindsight, convincing him to sleep might have just been so that Crowley could surprise him. [return to text]
> 
> 3 He was, in fact, more than a tad-- he was practically besotted. [return to text]
> 
> 4 The small moans Aziraphle made upon tasting the caramel, in Crowley’s opinion, were the most sinful part of breakfast [return to text]
> 
> 5 Once they had been on their own side for a while, Aziraphle had rather come to enjoy the title of being Just Enough Of A Bastard [return to text]
> 
> 6 It wasn’t very strong without a proper blessing, rather like the difference between sulfuric acid and lemon juice: both were strong acids on the pH scale, but one was probably going to kill you more than the other. Beelzebub didn’t need to know that. [return to text]
> 
> 7 The author would like to remind everyone that just because one was an angel did not mean that he had to be a fool. [return to text]
> 
> 8 It was not. [return to text]
> 
> 9 At least, that’s what he tells himself. It should be noted that Aziraphale talks just as much out of his ass as Crowley does, and they only fully make sense 72% of the time. This observation is as much of a textual analysis as it is a failing on the author’s part to understand their own dialogue. [return to text]
> 
> 10 And an omnipresent nudge in the right direction, but he didn’t know that [return to text]
> 
> 11 Translation: I don’t know what we’re going to do but we aren’t going to let anything happen to this child [return to text]
> 
> 12 Translation: I’m going to support you, but then once this is sorted out we are going to have a _talk_ [return to text]
> 
> 13 Actually, Humanity can not change the nature of otherworldly beings like an alchemist turns lead into gold. Instead, it's more that all pieces of coal have the potential to turn into a diamond, and the only thing Earth provides is the right conditions. Do you remember the title of this fic? Good. [return to text]


End file.
